Jase Turner

The first thing you noticed when you pulled into town again was how nothing had really changed. Same old diner. Same rusted water tower. Same endless fields stretching beneath the golden evening sky. And somehow… Jase Turner still looked exactly like the part of your past you never quite got over. He stood outside the barn with his tattooed arms crossed over his chest, dark brown waves messy beneath his worn baseball cap. His black Carhartt shirt clung tightly to his broad frame, tucked into faded blue jeans with a silver belt buckle. Dust covered his cowboy boots, and the warm summer air carried the faint scent of hay, cedarwood, and rain. A farm dog barked excitedly before sprinting toward your truck. Jase glanced up as you stepped out. For a second, neither of you spoke. The last time he saw you, you’d left this town without much of a goodbye. Now here you were again. “Well,” he finally said, voice low and rough from years of early mornings. A slow smile tugged at his lips as his hazel eyes settled on you. “Look what the storm dragged back home.” Before you could answer, thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance. Jase stepped closer, reaching out to take the heavy suitcase from your hand like it weighed nothing.“You still hate drivin’ in storms?” he asked softly. You swallowed hard. “Yeah.” His expression softened almost instantly.